


This Mark

by dr_ducktator



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_ducktator/pseuds/dr_ducktator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duke sits and remembers what it was like to be with Nathan. He can't quite get over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Mark

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place while Duke and Nathan are adults and Nathan's Trouble hasn't yet returned. Moments of this inspired by "You Will Leave A Mark" by A Silent Film; I don't own anyone or anything, I'm just daydreaming.

Duke can remember every brush of fabric, every soft sigh, every hard kiss. He’d locked those moments away for later use. Use for what, he wasn’t sure, but as he sits in his own bar in the town he tried to leave behind, he thinks now is one of those times he needs the comforting, torturous memory of Nathan.

They were younger than they are now, obviously, but not young enough that what happened between them could easily be written off as youthful ignorance or precociousness. They’d known each other forever, they’d always had some kind of weird rivalry, though reflecting on it, Duke knows it wasn’t a rivalry, it was him just being a kid – okay, him being a dick.

But when it happened, all the animosity between them – on Nathan’s part because Duke really was treating him like shit, and on Duke’s part because he knew he was being an asshole but couldn’t seem to help himself – dissipated as soon as their lips met.

They’d ended up on the beach, the sun setting and them both sitting in the sand with bare feet burrowing in the warm grains there. Nathan had gotten in some argument with his father and Duke had come upon him sitting near the shoreline and pouting more than usual, so he decided to sit with him and offer whatever solace he could.

In this instance, Duke decided solace would take the form of using his bare feet to bury Nathan’s bare feet in the sand. It seemed to have worked, because Nathan’s usual scowl was gone, his body relaxed to the point where he decided to lay back in the sand. Duke could even see the beginnings of a smile play across Nathan’s lips. It was the smile that did him in.

Even now, he isn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but he could never regret straddling Nathan’s hips and planting a hand on either side of his head, especially when he could see desire flare up in Nathan’s eyes, a flush crawl up his cheeks, and his lip part in soft surprise.

As he sits and remembers that night, Duke can still feel Nathan’s hands fisted in his shirt to close the distance between them. He didn’t know how lips whose default position was the thin line of anger or skepticism could feel so full and soft. But they felt better than any other lips he’d had under his, and in that moment he figured they always would.

Duke deepened the kiss, and he could feel Nathan practically vibrating underneath him, moaning at the feel of Duke’s tongue on his. The moans sent little shocks throughout Duke’s body, and he couldn’t help but grind down against Nathan seeking friction. Duke let out a gasp of his own when he felt Nathan thrust up against him, the sensation so delicious he knew this would end messy and possibly embarrassing, but he couldn’t care just then.

Their kissing grew fiercer, hungrier, each of their bodies responding to the other as if from instinct. Duke shifted his weight to one arm so he could reach between them. He made quick work of Nathan’s belt and unfastened his jeans, drawing new moans from the body beneath him. The sounds Nathan kept making filled Duke with a sense of urgency, as his body reacted to those sounds through jerkier, harder thrusts of his hips.

He slid his hand under the waistband of Nathan’s boxer-briefs, almost coming undone at the feel of the soft skin over what Duke could only describe later as steel. Wrapping his fingers around Nathan and dragging slowly from base to tip, he began laying soft kisses behind Nathan’s ear and down his neck, all while continuing to grind his own hips against Nathan’s.

The moans he was pulling from Nathan fueled his own desire, and he could feel himself panting against Nathan’s neck as his orgasm threatened. But he wouldn’t finish without seeing Nathan come first; he had to know what he was like with his guard down, utterly vulnerable, certainly beautiful.

Nathan’s moans grew louder, his hips working counter to Duke’s hand. And as Nathan’s breaths started coming in shallow huffs, Duke raised his head to watch Nathan come undone at his ministration. Duke drew his thumb over the tip of Nathan’s cock gathering and smearing the wetness there; that seemed to be all Nathan could take, for at that moment he slammed his hands down into the sand and thrust his hips violently upward as he cried out.

Duke remembers the only words spoken on the beach that evening came from him. Seeing Nathan’s face screwed up in a moment of ecstatic bliss pushed him over the edge. As he stroked Nathan through the end of his orgasm, Duke whimpered something like “Fuck, Nathan,” and came, his senses overwhelmed by what he’d just been able to bring out of the usually stoic man under him.

Duke remembers how stunning Nathan was then: still flushed, slightly breathless, lips looking used in the best way, and happy. Nathan looked really happy.

Nathan’s apparent happiness proved too much for Duke; thinking on it now he realizes he didn’t want the responsibility of someone else’s happiness, he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Nathan in the long run. Who the fuck is he trying to kid? He didn’t want to take the chance of Nathan breaking his heart. At the time he didn’t know what his problem was, but he felt some kind of self-defense mechanism kick in and he believed his only choice was to leave Nathan on the beach. He gave no excuses, offered no apologies; he just left him there. Duke thought it would be easier for Nathan to hate him in that moment, let Nathan chalk it up to more of his usual asshole antics than to stick around and wait for the fallout.

The fallout, Duke figures now, would have included Nathan finding out how Duke’s been stupidly in love with him for years, and Nathan would have found some way to beg out of it, to say he had to end up with a nice girl and a nice family. The fallout would be Nathan shattering Duke.

Duke’s leaving Nathan on the beach that day was a preemptive strike, and one of the stupidest things he’s ever done. He could have – fuck that – should have handled it so much better. He wasn’t a child that day on the beach. He’s still so ashamed of everything he’s done, of what he did to Nathan that day, of what he continues to do in his bravado and pointless flirting with random women in town, of all the doors he refuses to open because he can’t bear to see what’s waiting behind them.

The memory of that day always starts out sweetly, like he’s calling it up to warm him; but it always ends with Duke’s heart twisting painfully, wishing he could undo all the stupid shit he did after he saw Nathan’s beautiful smile that day and panicked. Somewhere along the way he’d become a fucking coward, and it makes him sick.

He finishes another round of whiskey and sets the empty glass on the bar. This is the part of reminiscing when Duke ventures back to his office, locks the door behind him, stands in front of the mirror, and tugs the collar of his shirt down. It’s nearly imperceptible: a tiny ghost of a scar Nathan left on his neck that day. Duke knew Nathan had bitten him trying to silence his own moans, but he didn’t know he’d leave a mark even though he’d drawn blood.

He slumps down in his office chair, wishing he could quell the tide of emotions that rise in him. It always happens this way; he always ends up in this chair, in his office, in his bar, wondering if he could ever fix things with Nathan. He deserves a bullet in his chest for running the way he did, for leaving Nathan exposed and hurting, for never apologizing, for never even casting a backward glance.

He prides himself on his ability to brush things off. He’s never really been afraid of anything; hell, he’s not a religious person, he’s not really superstitious, he doesn’t have a reason to be scared. And if he’s going to hell, he doesn’t give a shit. But this thing with Nathan that won’t let him go? It rattles him, fucks him up.

Most days he doesn’t think about how Nathan’s skin smelled, or how the sounds he made vibrated against his chest as their bodies pressed together. But days like this are becoming more common thanks to the insanity of Haven that seems to worsen daily. He wants to turn tail and run again; sell the Gull, get the hell out of Dodge, the whole nine yards. He can’t leave, though. Nathan marked him that day, and Duke can’t help but feel like he belongs to Nathan because of it.

The mark on his neck he can deal with. He likes how it feels under his fingertips, how it reminds him how Nathan felt under his fingertips. Nathan. “Nathan…Nathan…Don’t leave this mark.” He whispers it slowly, like a prayer or a meditation, as he slides his hand from the scar on his neck to cover his heart. Yeah, the mark on his neck he can deal with; the mark on his heart he can’t.


End file.
